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You're sick. When you began to feel nauseous, you first thought the problem was the food – it must be said that Greez didn't skimp on the spices at the last meal. But after you noticed, with your head over the toilet bowl, that you were the only one in the crew feeling sick, you realized that the problem was elsewhere and that emptying your stomach contents wouldn't make you feel any better. According to Cere, you were presumably bitten by a mosquito carrying you-don’t-know-what-disease the last time you were on Kashyyykk. Blame it on bad luck, you know.
There you are in the Mantis, lying on your bed, alternating between episodes where you are too hot, and those where you are too cold, as if your brain could not choose to which temperature to set your body thermostat. Right now, you are cold. You’re shaking all over your limbs; you feel like you’re frozen to the bone – whereas the temperature in the Mantis is actually more than alright.
You try to straighten up to pull the blanket that lies at your feet, but you can't. You grope around haphazardly until you feel the old blanket brush your fingertips. You grasp it with difficulty and try to pull it up on your legs, but it slips off your fingers and falls onto the floor. You're sure it did it on purpose – unless it's a figment of your imagination. You sigh with frustration and feel the tears filling your eyes. You can't even turn on your side and reach your arm out to try to retrieve the fallen blanket.
You close your eyes and exhale; maybe meditation will help you regain some strength and forget the feeling of your blood turning to ice in your veins. You imagine yourself in a nice place, the sun gently warming your frozen skin, the –
A new chill brings you out of your meditation. No, you are definitely not able to concentrate enough to forget that you are cold. Always with your eyes closed, you curl up on your bed, hoping to keep a bit of warmth.
Suddenly, you hear your bedroom door sliding, and the sound of his boots resonating on the metal floor. Cal walks quietly, as if he is trying not to make any noise. He must think you're asleep. You hesitate. You don't know if you should open your eyes to show him you're awake, or if you should keep them closed, so he doesn't notice your weakness. You decide to keep them closed – you don't want to feel like a burden to him, even though you know deep down you are. He bends down to pick up the blanket and lays it gently on you, making sure that it covers your whole body. He stays next to you for a while, but you don't dare open your eyes to see what he is doing. You don't know how long he stays there, still – you must have fallen asleep before he left, lulled by the hum of the Mantis' engine.
You're dreaming. You're seeing your fallen comrades again. They're here, all around you. They're calling out to you, but you can't hear what they're saying. You only hear the sound of bombs and blaster fire in the distance. You see an AT-AT approaching. You shout to warn them of the danger, but no sound comes out of your mouth. You wave your arms around to signal them. The blanket slips back to the floor. You shout again to get their attention. You are delirious.
Someone comes running into your room, alarmed by your screams; he takes you in his arms.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, I'm here," he says, gently running his hand through your hair.
No, no, it's not going to be okay! They're in danger! You have to help them! Still trapped in your delirium, you don't recognize him and try to push him away, but you don't succeed as you are so weakened – your punches look more like pats than anything else. He holds you tightly in his arms so that you don't hurt yourself badly.
"Y/N, that's me. Calm down, please, it's just me..."
The nightmare fades away, gradually replaced by a familiar setting – the setting of your room in the Mantis. You recognize the red hair and freckles on the face in front of you – Cal. Gasping, you stifle a sob and bury your face against his shoulder. Your tears soon form a small wet stain on his poncho fabric – the pink one, the one you hate so much. Cal rummages in one of the many pockets in his belt and pulls something out. In spite of your eyes blurred by tears, you can make out a blue and red pill in the palm of his hand.
"Take this," he says in a soft voice. "Cere said it would help you get better."
Anyway, you're in no condition to fight. You obediently swallow the medicine, then Cal helps you lie down.
You whisper a "thank you" before you sink – probably thanks to the pill – into a dreamless sleep.
You’re soaked in sweat now. You're horribly, terribly, excruciatingly hot. You feel sweat accumulating on your forehead before the drops give in to gravity and, dragged by their own weight, slowly drip down your burning skin. You run your tongue over your parched lips. You are thirsty, but you have nothing to drink. You desperately try to call someone, anyone, to get some water, but the voice escaping from your throat sounds like a weird croak too weak to be heard by anybody. You start to weep, but no tears come out of your dry eyes – your crying sounds more like sniffles than anything else.
Cal must have heard you – unless he came to your room by chance. When he sees you there, stupidly attempting to cry, he rushes towards you. You try to make him understand that you're thirsty, but it takes time for his brain to analyze your clumsy gestures. He finally understands what you want, and he unties the canteen hanging from his belt. He helps you to sit up and brings the orange metal bottle to your mouth. The liquid is tepid, but no matter, you can feel it flowing down your throat blissfully.
Meanwhile, Cal is staring at you, as if he is analyzing you.
"You should go take a shower," he notices in a neutral voice so as not to offend you.
Do you smell that bad? You don't even know how long you've been here or how long you haven't washed. However, he's right: you can feel your thin cotton clothes sticking to your skin and your sweaty hair sticking to your forehead. You nod your head.
Cal helps you up. You put one arm around his neck, and he supports you all the way to the bathroom. You feel like you've walked a mile to get to it, when it's really only a few feet from your room to the shower. He opens the door and lets you into the bathroom; his cheeks suddenly turn red.
"I... I'll leave you to it. There's a towel right there. Feel free to call me if you need anything."
You look at him and blink, not understanding why he is blushing stupidly. Ah, of course, he can't come with you in the shower. You go into the room and close the door behind you.
Cal waits patiently in the hallway until you're done. He hears the sound of the water stream. Suddenly he frowns. It's now half an hour since you came in, and you still haven't finished showering. He's getting worried. What if something's happened to you? You're not in very good shape, he must admit. He knocks on the door.
"Y/N? Are you almost done?"
However, he gets no answer. He's now completely worried sick. He puts his hand on the door handle – it's not locked. After a brief moment of hesitation, he enters the bathroom. There you are, cowering in a corner of the shower, still dressed, your hair and clothes soaked by the flowing water. He can't see your tears, but he notices your red eyes. He crouches down in front of you, being careful not to get wet by the water that is still flowing, and looks at you.
"Need help?" he asks gently.
You nod again, your cheeks red with shame – the shame of not even being able to wash your self.
"Don't worry," says Cal with a kind smile. "I'll take care of everything."
You're lying on your bed again. Cal washed and wiped you dry with a soft towel before helping you into clean clothes. Then he took you back to your room and left to let you rest. You have to admit, the shower did you good. You feel your strength coming back little by little, even if you still have a fever. You try to straighten up on your bed – you succeed more easily than you had expected. Then, you put your bare feet on the floor of the ship – the feeling of cold durasteel under the soles of your feet does you good. You realize just now that you can no longer hear the engine noise – you must have landed somewhere, but you don't know where. You get up and stagger for a short while, dizzy. You spread your arms slightly apart to regain your balance and take time to breathe to come to your senses. You lean against the wall for support and start to take a few steps. You walk slowly towards the common room – very slowly. There's no one around – they must all be asleep.
You walk to the Mantis door and operate the door opener. The night landscape of Bogano gradually reveals itself to your eyes as the ramp is lowered. You take a few steps before you drop heavily to the floor. You are tired from walking all the way here, and you don't have the strength to go on. You sit on the metal ramp halfway between the ground and the ship, your knees brought up against your chest, your arms wrapped around your legs, and you look up at the sky studded with stars. A cool breeze shakes your hair and dries the sweat that has started to bead on your forehead from the effort you have just made. You don't know how long you stand there, motionless, contemplating the green mesa illuminated by the silver moon.
In the distance, the sun begins to show its golden rays – it's dawn. Cal sits beside you without saying anything. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't even hear him approaching. You stay here for a while, sitting next to each other. The lavender-blue sky is now streaked with pink and orange. Cal wraps an arm around your shoulders and you put your head against his chest. You feel his warm body against yours, his breath on your hair.
"Thank you, Cal. I don't know what I'd do without you," you tell him in a voice that is hoarse but nevertheless louder than that of the past few days.
He slightly smiles at you – that damn smile you love so much – before he gently kisses you on the forehead.
"Me either, I don't know what I'd do without you."